She Kept All My Letters
I threw away the paintings, the pictures;
Even chopped down her favourite tree.
Anything that reminded me of her:
The coffee cup, the favourite record,
And I vowed never to buy jasmines again.
She lies in his bed now...
I would bring her jasmines every morning;
And placed them in her hair.
Hair so black that the night sky envied her.
Does she think of me now,
While sitting in his cold embrace?
Does she remember when we were us,
And he was someone else?
I was not worthy of her, I know;
But oh how I loved her,
The fool that I was.
I dream that now,
Hidden in her heart, is a box,
Where she still kept all my letters and
Still smells jasmines every morning.
isnt there already a poetry forum though